


When Pain Cuts You Deep, I’ll Be Your Remedy

by great_turkey_calamity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marauders, Not Beta Read, Physical hurt/comfort, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Remus and Sirius are in their early twenties for reference, TW: Description of injuries, boy be goin through it, first fic, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:15:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_turkey_calamity/pseuds/great_turkey_calamity
Summary: Remus endures a particularly dreadful full moon, and receives injuries that are worse than normal.Sirius takes care of him.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	When Pain Cuts You Deep, I’ll Be Your Remedy

**Author's Note:**

> Popping in from the RWRB fandom to drop this off lmaoo, hope y’all enjoy
> 
> Also I apologize in advance if the lingo is off and for the lack of magical hijinks I have not consumed any HP content in a hot minute lol

This has to be one of the worst moons that Remus has ever been through, by a long shot.

At least, it appears to be that way to Sirius, and he’s been through quite a few of them.  
  


He remembers the night before in vivid detail; how cold and windy it was, the boom of the thunder rumbling beneath his feet as rain came pouring down angry and hard, and Remus. Poor, sweet Remus— his Moony— shrieking and howling whilst shredding his skin with his claws. Merlin, it broke Sirus’ heart, and it seemed to drag out for centuries.  
  


As soon as the moon had faded away, and Remus had recovered from his less-than-stable, feral condition, they had apparated straight home. They had yet to asses Remus’ wounds, just focusing on getting him home. Better to sleep on their rickety couch or creaky bed than on ratted, broken-down furniture, or wooden floorboards covered in splinters and dust; the Shrieking Shack has always been a safe place to house him during his transformations, but in terms of nursing injuries, it’s probably one of the least sanitary places one could be. 

Upon materializing within their cramped, cluttered flat, Remus’ legs give out, and Sirius has to catch him before he crumples to the floor. Remus cries out a noise akin to a broken sort of sob, and his fingernails dig into Sirius’ arms. He retracts his hands from his partner’s sides, trying to ignore the way his heart freezes up when he sees fresh blood staining his palms. It’s soaked through the thin, breathable clothing they’d had on hand at the Shack. One would have thought that after years of patching his husband up, Sirius ought to be a pro at handling things when they get a bit too rough to stomach— and he is, for the most part— but things are different this time. His wounds are deeper. Bigger. More severe than the typical gashes and split skin. He’s absolutely mauled himself.

Sirius is having a bit of a moment, trying to figure out where to place him; he’s covered from head to toe in various injuries, and his body could give out at any moment.

“Think you can make it to the bedroom, Moons?” He asks. “If not, that’s just fine.”

“Think so,” Remus rasps, and Merlin, Sirius feels dreadful for not being able to do more to prevent such egregious injuries during the full moon last night. “Help me?”

“Of course, love.”

They readjust— Sirius has a decent hold on his waist, and is supporting his weight, and they start on their way towards their bedroom, which oh-so-inconveniently located at the end of the hallway. Every time Remus has to stop and take a few seconds to breathe, Sirius finds himself cursing the abhorrent layout of their piece of shite apartment. After several painful and tedious minutes, they do make it to their room, and very gingerly, Sirius helps Remus get seated on the edge of the bed. The noise he makes, accompanied by contorted facial features, is a display of absolute agony. 

“Where’s it the worst, Moons?” Sirius asks. Remus looks pale, looks like the epitome of exhaustion and illness. 

“M’ chest and sides,” Remus replies, a labored, soft tone to his voice. Definitely not good.

“Can you take your shirt off on your own, or do you need help?” He says, continuing down the small list of questions forming in the back of his mind. 

“Need help.”

“Okay, let me.”

Sirius is as gentle as he can be, scrunching up as much of the shirt in his fists as he can; he does not want to imagine the raw scraping of fabric against fresh cuts and abrasions. There are small instances where it does happen, and Remus is left hissing and screwing his eyes shut, and Sirius has to spend the next few minutes coaxing all of the tension out of him to get the rest of the shirt off.   
  


When that particular torture technique is over and done with, Sirius makes his way into their bathroom to grab some supplies. He’s no great healer— he doesn’t even come close— but he learned quite a bit of first aid from Madam Pomfrey back in their days at Hogwarts, and he’s clung to this rudimentary knowledge ever since. He rifles around in the medicine cabinet, finding the gauze, antibiotic ointment, and bandages. He also grabs a flannel, running it under the warm taps and lathering it with soap.

When he comes back into the room, Remus is practically swaying, eyes shut, only held up by the invisible forces that be. It’s a tragic, gut-wrenching scene, one that nobody should have to go through or witness. 

“I’m going to start with what’s worst, alright love?” He proposes, spying two particularly bad gashes on his right side and three large gashes starting at his solar plexus and swiping down and diagonally, stopping right above his belly button.“Get all the bad ones out the way.”

“Mhm.” Remus hums, clearly trying to tune out all outside distractions, as if he’s attempting to make his pain go away by sheer willpower and force. 

“Hold onto me, if you need to,” He instructs, and slowly, gently, presses the flannel to the three cuts skirting across his stomach.   
  


Remus lets out a loud, strangled wail of torment, and it scares the bloody life out of Sirius. He sounds like an animal of prey; endlessly attacked by a predator and snuffed out on his final scream. It’s horrific and disturbing and tremendously upsetting— it’s every possible negative emotion all at once.   
  


“Remus, my love.” He croons, being as thorough and tender as he can, before moving to the bleeding damage at his side. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I know it hurts.”

“Hurts so _bad_ , Sirius.” Remus sobs, gripping Sirius’ shirt and burying his face in his shoulder. 

“Shh, I know.” He hushes, fingers on his free hand running through his hair. “I know it does.”

He does Remus’ back next, then bale of his neck, then his face. His front and sides were the worst by a long shot; his sides still don’t look so well. He might have to take him to St Mungo’s, if they keep heading down this path. After some struggling, and talking Remus down from bursting into tears, Sirius tends to his legs; first his thighs, then his calves. When he’s finished with the flannel, he goes in with the ointment, and aside from the occasional sharp intake of breath or drawn-out hissing, Remus is stone silent. He’s beyond fatigued, beyond exhausted. Sirius thinks that he might just be able to knock him down with an especially strong exhale. 

“Falling asleep on me, Moony?” He asks teasingly, trying to lighten the mood as he winds gauze around his cold, pale skin. “Because I don’t believe I’ve ever seen someone sleep sitting straight up before.”

“‘M not falling asleep, you berk.” Remus slurs. His hold has lessened significantly, more or less bracing his hands on Sirius’ upper arms as he works. “Just a bit woozy ‘s all.”

Sirius hums, kissing his temple as he moves to the bandages, fastening them into place with ease. “How _rude_ of you, calling your loving, doting boyfriend a berk. While I’m nursing you back to health as well. For shame.”

Remus wheezes. “Please. Could do this all twice as fast as you.”

“I know, believe me,” He indulges. “You’re brilliant in everything you do. Are these too tight?”

“They’re fine, Pads.”

“Good.”

He makes his way over to their set of drawers, finding the most light and breathable pajamas and helping Remus into them, arm by arm and leg by leg; slow and steady.   
  


“I’ll turn on the telly and put the kettle on for you.” He says, switching on the television, putting some mediocre sitcom and turning the volume down; Remus’ head is probably splitting, bless him. 

“Sirius, you don’t—“

“Hush,” He cuts him off, soft and loving. “I want to, Remus. You’re obviously hurting. Let me take care of you.” He soothes, watching his lover sink into the comfort of soft pillows and a firm mattress after being helped down onto it. “I’ll put a pot of chamomile on for you.” He proposes, kissing the tip of his nose.

Remus smiles, lips cracked, dry, and bitten. “Try not to burn the place down, yeah?”

Sirius chuckles, brushing mousy brown hair out of his eyes. “Yeah,” He murmurs, soft and low. “I’ll try.”

Forty-five minutes, five insulating blankets, and three cups of tea later, Remus is starting to look a little bit better. There’s color in his cheeks, and seems to be doing a better job at expressing what he needs; lower volume on the telly, another blanket— Sirius meets his needs with ease.

Now, they lay together, holding hands beneath all the sheets, Remus’ head on Sirius’ shoulder, television muted and bathing their dark room in soft lighting. 

“Thank you, love.” Remus whispers. “For taking care of me.”

“Of course, Moons. You’ve been through so much— you deserve it, honestly.”

“I just,” Remus sighs, taking a moment or two to collect his thoughts. “I find myself amazed that you don’t go running out the door every month. I know it’s difficult to handle, and that it’s certainly not ideal.”

“I mean, sure, it can be rough at times,” Sirius admits. “And some times are rougher than others, but I care about you Remus. It’ll take things a million times worse than a full moon to scare me off.”

Remus smiles. “Like what?”

Sirius takes a minute or so to ponder. “I think you would have to stop laughing at my jokes.” He says with a teasing, sarcastic smile.

Remus snorts, letting out a huffy laugh. “That’s worst than dealing with me when I’m quite literally a dangerous, bloodthirsty monster?”

“ _Bloodthirsty?_ ” Sirius asks, snickering. “You do the washing and fold our clothes. Please, forgive me for not shaking in my boots.”

“What else?”

“We’d have to call it quits if you stopped calling me a berk or a muppet; those are my favorite pet names, you know.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop calling you either one of those, so you’re in luck.”

“Brilliant,” He sighs, pecking the top of his head. “In all seriousness, you would have to hate me before I’d give up on us, Moons. There’s nothing you could ever do to make me leave.”

“Nothing?” Remus echoes.   
  


Another quick kiss. “Nothing at all.”

“Merlin, you’re whipped.”

He lets out a huffy laugh. “I guess I am.”

“That’s alright,” Remus mumbles, tilting his head up to look Sirius in the eyes. “I suppose that makes me whipped, too.”

Sirius leans down, placing a slow, pleasant kiss to Remus’ lips.

Hours later, the chamomile tea has finally set in and done its work. Remus is long gone, snoring and drooling all over Sirius’ shirt. He had forfeited all the pillows ages ago, but he had insisted on using Sirius’ shoulder instead. He’s woken up a few times, left tossing and turning from pain and unsettling dreams. Every time, Sirius was there, offering pain medication and water and humming under his breath until he was able to fall back asleep again.

It’s half past two in the morning, and Sirius finds himself still awake, watching over him. He can’t help but be on edge— he would hate for Remus to wake up while he was sleeping and try to fend for himself. His Moony, stubbornly independent, always worried about being a bother. So considerate, obliging to a fault. Whilst Sirius wants nothing more to be awake for him, in case he’s needed, he knows that Remus will require much more assistance in the morning; he always seems to do worse after he gets a chance to sleep. It’s almost like the pain’s gotten a chance to seep through his muscles and into his weary, brittle bones. They’ll lapse into the familiar comfort that comes with a constant push of fluids, that comes with heating pads and pain pills, with comfort food and the sappy romance films that are Remus’ one true secret, guilty pleasure.

He might be needed tonight, but he knows that he’ll be needed tomorrow morning.

He steals one last glance at Remus, at his fluttering eyelashes and his parted, uneven lips, at the serene, painless look that he wears on his face whilst in deep slumber. So beautiful, yet completely unaware of it.

Sirius pecks his forehead, then reaches over him to switch off the lamp, finally settling in to rest for the remainder of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Like RWRB content?   
> Don’t know what RWRB is and want to drop a prompt off?  
> Give me a follow on tumblr @bi-disaster-fsotus


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